


Air Guns

by Veul_McLannon



Category: Adventures of Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson (TV Russia), Sherlock Holmes (1984 TV), Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Angst, Character Death, Established Relationship, Holmes POV, M/M, Multi, Reichenbach!AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-24
Updated: 2015-01-24
Packaged: 2018-03-08 19:41:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3221015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Veul_McLannon/pseuds/Veul_McLannon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Holmes makes a mistake he will regret at the Reichenbach Falls.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Air Guns

**Author's Note:**

> Written 5 years ago, slightly modified, but really I couldn't bear to dive into it and pick it apart, so apologies.  
> Further apologies for the clichéd time break.

“I’m staying with you,” he had said. And, like the fool I am, I agreed. I expected many things, but none came close to what really occurred that day at the Reichenbach Falls.

Watson was following close behind me, as he always did – I turned back to ensure his leg was giving him no trouble on the steep climb, and found only an empty space where my doctor should have been. Air guns. _They will hurt you to get to me, Watson._ I ran back the way I came. He was sprawled in a patch of grass, cough up blood at every breath.

“Oh my- oh my God, Watson. John, please, don’t – it’s me, it’s – look at me, man! Please, John!” I was rambling, I knew. I couldn’t have cared less.

“Holmes?” came the faint moan by my side.

“Jo- oh god, you’re all right! I’ll find a doctor-”As I tried to rise, his hand grasped weakly at my wrist.

“It’s too late for that now, old friend,” he murmured with a weak smile. The man was so brave. So very brave. As he looked up at me, his hand somehow found my neck, and he pulled me down softly into a kiss so sweet it felt like a dream. Was it a dream? Please god, let it be a dream. He broke away, to whisper, “Leave me. You’re in danger out here. I couldn’t-” his body was racked with cough as the white Eidelweiss became red as poppies. His eyes began to slide slowly shut.

“John? No, please don’t leave me! How can I- how-” I was sobbing like a child before I finished speaking. The prone body of my erstwhile friend, biographer and lover gave me no reply.

 

**Years later...**

I never forgave myself. Never. Still, I sit here, at his desk in our rooms; everything untouched, everything exactly as it was. His medical bag, his journals, his notes are all I have left of him now. I’m told people say I’ve gone mad – uttering my name in hushed voices with concerned yet disapproving looks – and who’s to say they’re wrong? I have set foot outside since I finally destroyed the last of Moriarty’s foul gang. That was two years ago.

Mrs Hudson tried to throw me out in exasperation long ago, but no-one would take the lodgings with the walls, ceilings and general aura of the place being as it was – so I returned, and here I live, paying the rent with Mycroft’s ample savings. He saw I was a lost cause upon my return from that dreadful place, and being the brotherly soul he is, offered to provide me with lodgings.

So here I stay, leaning on the goodwill of others. It cannot last forever though. But still I sit here, at my Doctor’s desk, still hopelessly in love with the ghost of a man who can never again be mine.


End file.
